The Allure of the Forbidden
by iamhermionemalfoy
Summary: Draco Malfoy wanted to claim Hermione Granger not because he had any sort of feelings for her. He blamed the humane feeling of being allured to the forbidden, and that was reason enough for him to do the unthinkable.


**The Allure of the Forbidden**

By astrogirl23

xoxoxoxoxoxo

A/n: Standard disclaimers apply. FYI, this little one-shot was created in the midst of a national disaster here in my country. It had been raining all day long, and luckily, my house wasn't one of those unfortunate ones which were submerged in flood water. Quite unluckily though, the internet connection had been down the past days leaving me with nothing to do except type down possible fic ideas and tinker with my photoshop. So voila, here's a fic for you guys. Hope you'd enjoy it. :D

Warning: Slightly lemonish, so you've been warned.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

It must be that undeniable allure of the forbidden; the helpless feeling of wanting something so wrong and unattainable. It gnawed angrily at his guts, refusing to be ignored and insisting freedom from the carefully intricate confines of his innermost thoughts. The intricate confines which were slowly weakening, the cracks of beginning damage growing more and more visible each day. He blamed the war; the thick, sturdy walls he had so studiously built to cover his emotions began to slowly fall apart during the final battle at Hogwarts. The death of one of the few people who could really understand him, the upcoming trials for imprisonment for his father, who had surrendered with little fuss to the ministry to everyone's surprise, and his sudden unwanted feeling of debt to Potter and his friends, who had saved him from a great peril that would have caused his death, were just a few reasons for the slow crumble of his security blankets.

Somehow, the recent turn of events had annihilated his wall of defences against the world that threatened to hate him more if he showed what he really was; he could no longer act as indifferent and uncaring as before. He could no longer use the barbs and insults and sarcasm to shield himself from everyone around him. The hurt and other feelings he had kept so well hidden which he refused to let surface in his expression before was now discernible with every look of disdain and mistrust shot in his direction by his fellow schoolmates. He was being bared raw, layer by layer, much more at risk of being injured emotionally, and he hated it.

McGonagall, the new headmaster of Hogwarts, had permitted him to finish his final year at Hogwarts along with those in his batch who were also unable to attend due to the circumstances concerning the war. The only companion he had was Astoria Greengrass, who had been kind enough to sit with him during lunchtime when no one else would; she had taken him by surprise when she spoke to him one day and asked if she could sit with him during one Charms class. And he, who had been secretly craving for even the tiniest scrap of kindness from anybody, had nodded and moved over to give her space.

With her big almond-shaped blue eyes framed with unbelievably long eyelashes and waist-length ash-blonde hair, Astoria was a beauty; he could not imagine a more suitable woman to introduce to his mother. Astoria was a pureblood of rich ancestry, with numerous fine qualities that would never cause embarrassment were he to marry her someday.

But he did not possess any feeling of utter passion for her, which he surely felt for someone else. Yes, he blamed the humane feeling of wanting something unreachable again. Who would want something so plain over a rare stone like Astoria whom he could have in a snap of a finger anyway?

Or maybe he had some masochistic demon living inside of him. He could still vividly remember the moment he finally took real notice of the mudblood; he was thirteen, a boy who had just hit puberty, with hormones raging out of control at the simplest of stimuli; and at that moment, the stimulus happened to be her hand, slapping hard and angrily at his cheek. The violent contact was intended to hurt him physically, and it did, perhaps a little. Yet it was overridden with an unfathomable feeling of excitement, of anticipation as their skins brushed against each other.

It was the first and only time she had touched him, and he found himself longing for more. Yes, it was odd, but he caught himself wanting more and more of the verbal spats she had with him, intentionally taunting her to a point that she might physically touch him again. To his disappointment, she always retreated early and let her friends do the dirty job of bringing him down for her.

Now, as he watched her flip idly through the pages of some book at a secluded corner of the library, he could feel the unusual yearning for her overcome his rational senses again, and he had to shake his head to keep away the things he wanted to do to her at bay.

He wanted to pull that dreadful ribbon keeping her bushy tresses in place, tug the neatly folded tie on her neck and expose what she wore underneath, rip off her damned prim skirt and take her right then and there on the library table she was currently leaning on. Those outrageous thoughts failed to shock him now; when he first had them, he had accused an involvement of cheap love potions, but then again, why would she waste the effort on him? It's not as if she wanted him in the same twisted way he wanted her. She simply was not the type to sabotage him with such paltry tactics, so he quickly discarded the idea. He then concluded that he was officially going mad.

Just then, a flash of red hair attached to an ungraceful gangly body appeared in his vision, and he watched in dismay as Weasley took the seat beside her and gave her what seemed to be a sloppy kiss on the mouth. He stared in disgust as she snaked an arm around his neck and pulled him closer. More wet, sloppy kisses which reminded him of a lapping dog, were exchanged, until she thought it was enough. With a happy sigh, she released him and showed him the book she was reading. The redheaded oaf didn't seem inclined to listen however. With the manners of an uncivilized ox, Weasley had propped his feet up the table and regaled with a voice that grated his ears the quidditch practice he had awhile ago. He watched as she tried to look interested in what the Weasel was saying, a forced smile on her suddenly stiff lips. Really, if she was happy with that kind of treatment, she would surely die with euphoria in his arms, he had thought bitterly. If only he had the chance to prove that.

Then suddenly, a peculiar yet brilliant idea crossed his mind. Really, how could he have not thought of it before? It was all very simple, now that he thought about it. But would he risk breaking a ton of school rules for a mudblood's touch? He knew though in his gut that no matter what inner struggle he may have with himself, he would still do anything in the end. For the satisfaction.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

"Drink this," he said, pushing a goblet of frothy cinnamon-colored liquid into Astoria's pale hands. The blonde girl gave him a questioning glance, then took a whiff of the liquid.

"It smells nice," she commented. "What is this, Draco?"

He waved away her question with an elegant swing of his hand. "Something to calm your nerves," he answered smoothly. Astoria gave him another doubtful glance, but his expression gave away nothing. With great care, she then took the cup to her lips and sipped the liquid, draining it to the last drop.

Not long after her last gulp, the goblet shattered to the floor, and he watched with impassive grey eyes as Astoria clutched at her neck as though she was being strangled; right before him, the silky strands of her ash-blonde hair grew into a long, curly brown array, her face slowly morphing into a set of velvet-brown eyes, a small pert nose and full pink lips. Her limbs grew a little shorter and less shapelier, her breasts shrinking to a smaller size, and her hips taking on an altered shape as well.

"D—Draco—w—w—what happ—what the—?" Astoria halted in the middle of her stammer, also noticing the change in the timbre of her voice. There was a bewildered look in her now brown eyes, so he closed the space between them and took her in his arms.

"Hush, everything will be fine," he murmured against her hair. Astoria still would not stay calm though; with a shrill voice she asked, "What did you do to me? Tell me! Are you going to kill me?"

Instead of answering her, he took her face in his hands and touched his lips to hers, savouring the satiny feel of her mouth against his. So this was how the mudblood's lips felt like, he thought idly. Astoria seemed to temporarily forget what she was asking though, as she then proceeded to mate her mouth with his, nipping at his lips and getting a low growl from him.

With natural deftness he slowly stripped her of her uniform and laid her on the bed, taking in the sight of her brown curly strands spread over the snowy white pillow case, her lips swollen from his kisses, the quick rise and fall of her naked chest, the soft, flat, pale abdomen, down to the triangle of curls that he so longed to touch. With his inquisitive fingers, he let his hands trail from the sides of her neck to her breasts, which quickly tightened into pink little buds at a single brush with his fingers. His other hand had invaded her lower torso and was trying to get access to her wet folds. She opened her legs for him without any fuss, and he paused.

This was too easy, and he did not like it.

"Draco…"

There was a hint of pleading in Astoria's polyjuice-disguised voice that made him temporary halt his exploration of her body. She sounded like she wanted him to continue, but that made him bolt from the bed, an icy sensation knifing his guts.

He could not do this to Astoria. She may temporarily possess the body he had been craving for so badly the past years, but he doubted the experience would be the same. Astoria was willing to do this with him, willing to succumb to everything he wanted to do. No, it wouldn't be the same with the real owner of that body; she would not succumb. She would fight him off, try to act disgusted with what he was doing, and then act like the aggressor if ever she would deem that making love with him was worth it. She would not lie like a humble lamb for sacrifice while he had his way with her.

With as much gentleness as his agonizingly aroused body would allow, he removed his fingers from Astoria's slick, tight mound and sat up, trying very hard not to look at her.

"Why?" she asked in a raspy voice, not rising from her place on the bed. He had not failed to notice the disappointment and confusion laced in her cultured tone.

He had no answer to her query, so he stood and headed towards the bathroom for an ice-cold shower. He was not able to witness how Astoria screamed in alarm when she saw a different face in front of the mirror, a feat he did not mind missing.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

Hermione Granger had been doing her 10:00PM patrolling around the fourth floor to ensure that the students were well on their way to their respective common rooms and were no longer prowling in empty classrooms, doing things they were not supposed to be doing, and that tedious job was boring her to tears. She'd rather be in the library finishing her essay for Arithmancy or at the common room hanging out with her so-called boyfriend Ronald Weasley. She referred to him as the 'so-called boyfriend' because lately, she honestly could not feel as if they were lovers anymore. He was too busy with quidditch, and she with her Head Girl duties. They rarely saw each other anymore, and when they did, all Ron would talk about is his sport, or how Madam Hooch was tiring them all from practice. Not to mention that she could barely feel the sparks between them now—she thought her wand emitted more of it than her kisses with Ron did.

Shooing the last of the Slytherin fifth-years who were lounging at the Transfiguration classroom as though they owned the place, she then proceeded to check the next classroom, the one the second-years used for Defence Against the Dark Arts. She wasn't surprised to find someone using it as well, as she was used to asking students to vacate the room since she became Head Girl earlier that year. One time she even found a couple of sixth year Hufflepuffs shagging like there's no tomorrow on the teacher's desk, which she reported to Filch, who had them doing detention for a month.

As she approached, her foot connected with empty bottles of whiskey lying on the floor, as well as crumpled wrappers of some sweet she had seen at Honeydukes last week. Her gaze followed the trail of candy wrapper and stopped as she took in a curled cloaked figure lying on the floor, apparently unconscious.

Her lips curled in dismay. Judging from her approximated measurements, the figure was quite tall, even curled like a ball on the floor. It would be difficult to carry him to the hospital wing if ever she could not wake him. She guessed it was a bloke from the lower years, probably drunk because he failed some test or had been rejected by some faceless girl. As she reached the figure, she knelt down and shook him by the shoulder.

"Hey, wake up," she said loudly, but the figure did not stir. "You have to go back to your common room, and you can continue your rest there. Do you hear me?" she prodded him again, and this time, the hood of the cloak fell to reveal who the mysterious figure was. Well, there was no questioning as to whom that platinum blonde head belonged to. But what in heaven's name was Draco Malfoy doing at an empty classroom, drunk to unconsciousness and overstuffed with candy?

His eyes still remained closed, and Hermione thought she actually heard him snore. The sound made her smile a little. Who would have thought that the mighty, perfect Malfoy snored when he was sleeping? She took in his face, seeing how he really looked like up close for the very first time. It was very strange, not seeing the guarded look on his face, nor the sneer or arrogant sweep of his eyes as he usually surveyed a crowd. Though as she had observed, he had not seen Malfoy's smirk since the war ended; he had been abnormally quiet and reserved during the past months, only having Astoria Greengrass as his only companion everywhere he went. He had also stopped his verbal torture to her and her friends, only staring at them with a bizarrely solemn look on his face when they passed by each other in the halls.

Hermione had always been curious about Malfoy, but she had never dared to tell that to Ron or Harry. He had been like a challenging puzzle for her to solve, but she had little success during the past years, as she had little contact with him. All she knew was that he was a selfish, opportunistic bastard who took pleasure in showing off his power and reminding everyone that there would always be a triangle of monarchy in the wizarding world, and purebloods like him are at the top. However, she also noticed that despite his bad attitude, he was loyal to his family and would be willing to do anything for their salvation. Plus he also got good grades. So, two good things out of a hundred horrible behaviours were not really so bad, she reckoned.

And come to think of it, he did not look really bad either. He had this aristocratic look about him, from the soft-looking tufts of white-blonde hair, to the long, straight nose and to the pouting lips that softened his features a little. His lean body had been a product of quidditch matches, but she noticed that he did not seem to be eating adequately lately, for he seemed to lose some weight. He had dark circles under his eyes too, indicating that he was also short of sleep. It seemed like his beautiful girlfriend had been neglecting him, the poor guy.

She did not know how long she kneeled there, watching the even rise and fall of his chest, and his calm face as he continued to sleep.

"Malfoy, wake up," she said again, trying with all her might not to touch the errant lock of white-blonde hair that had fallen over one of his closed eyes. He murmured something along the lines of "Go to hell," and went promptly back to sleep. Hermione glanced at her wristwatch, which read 10:50. she still had ten minutes to waste, then she was off to her dormitories for some sleep. Ten minutes meant she had five more minutes to try to rouse Malfoy and another five to go back to Gryffindor towers.

She gave his shoulder another brisk tap, and his eyes finally fluttered open. Hermione felt as though she had swallowed molten gold as his unfocused grey eyes met her own plain brown eyes. Malfoy had never gazed at her that way, not even in her wildest dreams that involved him, and that stupefied her for a moment. He was staring at her as though he thought he was still in a middle of some dream, making her squirm in discomfort.

"Astoria?" he asked groggily, taking her by surprise when he pulled her by the wrists and sent her toppling over his side. "Why're you still looking like that? I didn't give you any potion today…"

Hermione did not understand what he was talking about, but she still set him straight nonetheless. "Sorry to disappoint, but it's just me, Hermione Granger," she told him, struggling to remove his grip from her wrists, but he would not let go.

"I don't believe you," he said stubbornly, pulling her closer, much too close for Hermione's comfort. She tried to pull away again, but she seemed to be doing it in vain. "You found out what I did, didn't you? That's why you're punishing me," he accused, his eyes narrowing.

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" she asked, curiosity creeping up her system like liquid fire. What in Merlin's beard was he talking about? What had he done to Astoria?

To her utter surprise, the next second, she found herself being kissed by her worst enemy—quite gently too, again, to her shock. At the touch of his lips her mind had gone entirely blank, though her senses had heightened greatly, making her completely aware that his hands had made their way from her wrists to the back of her head and her neck respectively, and that his tongue was giving slow deliberate licks to her closed lips, demanding entrance.

The irrational side of her encouraged that she let him in, and that they continue the debauchery as they both pleased until they were both sated. After all, this was a chance of the lifetime. This would be the single moment she would let Malfoy touch her, so she could satisfy her curiosity about him. She had always wondered vaguely how he would taste like, and now she got her answer. With a soft sigh, she opened her lips and let his tongue in, her body warming in response to the flicks his tongues made against every corner of the inside of her mouth. He tasted of fire whiskey, sweet candy and ruin.

Heavens, he most certainly did not kiss like Ron. Ron's kisses were more on the friendly side, unlike the one she was having at the moment with Malfoy, which screamed evil sexuality. His kisses made her want to behave badly, to break some rules and not have a care in the world for any consequences. His kiss was dangerous.

And so with every ounce of willpower she possessed, she pushed him away. Her heavy lids lifted as reality came crashing down on her. She just kissed her worst enemy, and she wanted more. She wanted to tear open his robes and put her hands on his chest. She wanted to see him naked, wanted to feel his shaft inside her. That simple thought caused sudden moisture between her thighs, and she was inwardly horrified by her wanton thoughts towards someone so… well, unattainable. She could not honestly want Malfoy, could she? It was just a kiss. Besides, she had a boyfriend. No, she was just caught in the heat of the moment. Yet the throbbing in between her legs would not stop.

"It really is you," his softly whispered statement snapped Hermione from her reverie. She watched in mute silence as he straightened up in a sitting position, swaying slightly from the effects of the whiskey. He tugged at his tie, loosening it, and she felt her mouth water when a portion of the space between his collarbones showed. She wanted to lick him there. Goodness, what was happening to her? She must be going nuts for having the urge to lick Malfoy.

"Of course it's me," she managed to choke out, averting her gaze to the blackboard. "God knows how you'd mistake me for Astoria, when we look absolutely nothing alike,"

Malfoy did not respond to her statement and stared at her instead, as though trying to fathom something beyond his level of intelligence.

"Why did you kiss me back?" he finally spoke after a minute of uncomfortable silence, and Hermione wished a hole would swallow her up rather than answer him. She was not one to lie though, so she decided to tell the truth. It's not as if they would be meeting again after this, wouldn't they?

"I was curious, you see," she responded, finally managing to sound steady since they kissed. "…and you were a really good kisser, so I seized the chance,"

She wanted to laugh at the arrested look on Malfoy's face, but she had the restraint; she gave him a smile instead. "I hope you aren't angry I took the opportunity," she added for a good measure, and his mouth fell open in astonishment.

"You… took the opportunity?" Malfoy parroted, still looking very much bewildered. Then, in a heartbeat, everything changed; before Hermione could do anything, she found herself flat on her back on the cold stone floor and staring into Malfoy's glimmering grey eyes. "How about I take mine now?" he asked softly, leaning down to touch his lips to the side of her neck and taking a small bite. Hermione could feel every hair on her body raise into goose bumps as his hot breath fanned her throat. She could only lie there, immobile, as he continued to nip playfully at her neck and at her earlobes.

She meshed her mouth eagerly into his as their lips met once more, and when she took the lower portion of his mouth between her teeth, she was positive she heard him groan. He kissed her hard and aggressively, but what surprised her was that he did not hurt her at all, like Ron did when he was in a hurry. He trailed his hot mouth from her lips down to the area where her neck met with the collar of her blouse, and through her hazy mind she thought he would remove the bothersome piece of clothing himself and continue kissing her, but he did not.

Instead, to her shock, he began to suckle at her breast through the thin fabric of her blouse, and she was gripped with the wild urge to remove the restricting clothing to have the touch of his wonderful mouth against her bare skin.

"Oh, for godsake!" she moaned out, her trembling fingers attempting to remove her necktie and unbutton her blouse. For a moment Malfoy's mouth left her, and he watched her with a fascinated expression on his face as he watched her fumble with her clothes.

"What the—are you stripping, Granger?" he asked in mild surprise. His tone made Hermione regain her logical sense. What the fuck had she been doing? Was she actually getting naked for Malfoy and thinking of having sex with him in an empty classroom right before curfew?

Oh shit. Hermione was never the one for crude words, but that seemed to be the proper language for the moment. She was so painfully aroused at that instant, all thanks to Malfoy, and her mind was spinning from the sudden twist of happenings. She had to get a hold to her raging emotions. She must not let one small, insignificant feeling of sudden lust towards Malfoy get ahead of her sensible mind.

She could feel all the blood rushing to her face as she pushed him away from her and sat up. "Get away from me," she muttered, trying to control the tremors wracking her body. "We should not have done that,"

Malfoy was still watching her intently, as though trying to figure out what she would do next. He just sat there across her, a beautiful tousled mess.

She stood up on wobbly knees, refusing to look at him in the eye. "We have to go now, it's way past curfew,"

But Malfoy did not budge from his place. "Granger, will you stay with me just for tonight?" his sudden request caused Hermione to ogle at him in bafflement for a few seconds. When what he had said had registered in her mind, her brows slammed together in confusion.

"Give me one good reason, Malfoy, and I might just comply," she surprised herself by answering. She did not have to wait long for his answer.

"I want you, and this madness won't stop until I satisfy myself."

A very long silence stretched after his blunt statement. Was he serious? Hermione looked at him, really looked at him—and her instinct told her that he was telling the truth. But why her? He had Astoria, whom, in her opinion, was undeniably a lot more better-looking than her in many aspects.

"Why me?" she croaked out, her stomach twisting into tight little knots. She was not she whether she was looking forward into hearing his answer, but she wanted to know nonetheless.

"It's the allure of the forbidden, actually," he replied after a heartbeat, seeming to be lost in his drunken thoughts. "That's basically my theory… I'm having this mentality that I could never have you, so I began having this obsession of needing to have a claim on you to disprove my theory,"

His honesty touched a portion of Hermione's heart. She could totally understand what he meant, because… well, sometimes she also had the perverse thought of claiming someone as off-limits as he was, body and soul. The only difference was that she chose to ignore the cravings unlike him, who fell into uncontrollable fantasies that led to further obsession. At that moment, she was able to admit to herself that there were indeed several moments she dreamed of having Malfoy for her own and bidding him to do as she wished. It was a side she would never reveal to anyone; it was the side she had tried to conceal the past years, as she had been expected to always be the good girl, a paragon of kindness and purity. But she was neither of the two, and that realization made her feel an exhilarating sense of freedom from the confines of sticking to the rules and everyone's expectations.

"Since when had you had this… feeling?" she asked, feeling lightheaded at her swirl of emotions. It was like her floodgate of emotions had swung open, and rivulets of feelings she had no idea she possessed were overflowing from the secluded peripheries of her mind. She honestly could not name what she was feeling at the moment, apart from the frustration of her abrupt interruption from shagging Malfoy.

"Longer than you can imagine," he murmured, a hint of pink rising to his lean cheekbones. "I taunted you more than anything else because I was waiting for you to slap me again,"

That confession made Hermione laugh, either with mirth or with a hint of bubbling hysteria. "Turning all masochistic now, are you?" she asked, moving closer to him. She had already made up her mind. She was going to try for a change of scenery tonight. A scenery nobody needed to know about, especially her boyfriend.

Tilting her face up to his, she kissed him softly, her small hands going up to the sides of his face. She heard his gasp of surprise, and could not help smiling against his mouth.

"Let's see if the forbidden really tastes sweeter than the ordinary..."

xoxoxoxoxoxo

A/n: Sorry. I just had to let that one out. Tell me what you think. :)


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